


A Fight at Sammy's

by spiderfire



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Javert Survives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bar Room Brawl, Birthday Fluff, Crack, Gen, Inspired by Art, M/M, Police
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:16:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiderfire/pseuds/spiderfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Javert breaks up a bar fight, to find Valjean in the middle of it.  Afterwards, they have words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fight at Sammy's

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired by two works of art posted on tumblr on the same day. Dong Valdong posted [this picture of Javert in a bar fight](http://dong-valdong.tumblr.com/post/55279164619/merkwerkticleeb-asked-javert-in-the-middle-of-a) and m24601 posted [this picture of Javert protecting Valjean after a fight](http://m24601.tumblr.com/image/55274745639).

The call came over the radio. “Any units in the area of Fourth and Main, there are reports of a fight at Sammy’s Bar,” said dispatch. 

Javert looked Renauld. They were detectives. This was not the sort of thing they usually responded to, but due to the outbreak of flu, a third of officers who were supposed to be on the street tonight had called in sick. 

“Sammy’s is promising,” Renauld replied. 

Javert looked at his partner with an amused sigh. “Might as well,” Javert said. 

With a grin, Renauld flipped on the siren and pressed the accelerator as Javert picked up the mike, “Roger dispatch, 478 en route to Fourth and Main.” With a curt “Roger 478!” and a blast of static, dispatch signed off. 

By the time they skidded to a diagonal stop in front of the bar, the fight had spilled out into the street. The arrival of the sirens had an immediate chilling effect. As Javert and Renauld got out of the car, nightsticks in hand, the participants on the street melted away, disappearing into the night. It was clear there was still action going on inside. Renauld pulled open the door to the bar and held it for Javert, who stepped in. 

The bar was gloomy and dark. Even though smoking had been banned in bars for nearly a decade, somehow the smell of it, mingled with the smell of stale beer, clung to the heavy wooden furniture. On the left side of the room, three or four men sat groaning but out of the fight. On the right side, the melee continued. There were maybe eight still fighting. 

“Police!” Renauld bellowed. 

The fight continued. 

With a glance at Renauld, Javert separated from his partner, circling to the far side of the brawl. 

The fighters were so focused they did not even notice Javert coming up. He grabbed the first one by the collar and brought his stick down across the man’s stomach. With a heave, he shoved him out of the way and turned to the next man. 

He found himself face to face with Jean. He almost dropped his stick. Jean, with a black eye and his white hair in a wild crown around his head. “What the hell!” he shouted. 

Jean Valjean had not recognized the man in front him yet. He turned to swing. It would have been comical if Javert had not been so… so.... Javert was not sure what registered for Valjean first, the uniform or the person inside, but mid-swing Valjean pulled his blow. Another man took advantage of Valjean’s hesitation to clock him in the kidneys and Valjean went down. 

Javert felt something akin to anger, but oh, so much stronger, bubble up from his insides. The questions of why Valjean was here and not with Cosette, why he was in the center of a bar fight with men literally half his age and not sensibly out of it – those questions would come later. For now, Valjean was in danger in more ways than he wanted to think about. With an angry growl, a growl that was barely human, Javert shoved Valjean behind him and swung his nightstick in a flurry of blows. 

He did not know how much time had passed, seconds probably, when he turned on the last person standing and found himself facing Renauld. Renauld had a thin cut running down his cheek that he was pressing a wad of paper napkins to, and a shit-eating grin on his face. He dropped his night stick back into its holder. “Now that,” Renauld said, “that is police work.” 

With an exasperated sigh, Javert turned to the subdued fighters. Half a dozen guys law sprawled on the floor. A faint, amused smile crossed his face when he realized that not one of them had white hair. 

“No, my friend, now comes the police work. You want to call for the wagon? We are going to need it, by the time we are done.”

Renauld nodded and reached for the radio clipped to his shoulder, but before he pressed the button he said, “Hey, was that…” 

“Shut up,” Javert replied. “Just make the damn call.” 

***

Javert got home after midnight. As he expected, Jean was sitting in the recliner, with a bag of frozen peas on his eye. As Javert took off his overcoat and hung it on the coat tree, he leveled a look at Jean. Jean had the good sense to blanch. Javert came over and planted a kiss on the unencumbered side of Valjean’s head and sat down across from him. “Well?”

“Well?” 

“C’mon Jean! What were you doing there? I thought you were going to be at Cosette’s tonight. And what the HELL were you doing in the middle of a brawl? You are almost 70, for fuck’s sake.” 

“I’m 66,” Valjean replied, gruffly. 

“Yeah, and the men you were fighting were like 25.” 

“I was doing fine until you got there!” 

“Fine! You call that fine? That eye is going to be swollen shut for a week!” 

Valjean shrugged. “It’ll heal.” 

Javert rolled his eyes. “Okay! You can still handle yourself. I get that. God knows Renauld is going to be picking fights with his walker one day.” 

Valjean grinned. Renauld had been a guest for dinner several times over the last year and Valjean had a relaxed, friendly relationship with him. Although he tried not to, Javert knew that his two partners had a pact. About him. 

“But what were you doing in a bar? In THAT bar?” Javert looked down his nose at Valjean. “Do you know what goes on in that bar?”

Valjean chewed his lip and looked away. 

“Out with it!” Javert bellowed. 

Valjean mumbled something. 

Javert frowned. “Speak up.” 

“I was meeting a contact.” 

“A contact,” Javert replied flatly. 

“Well, contacts.” Valjean looked at him and then looked away. “You are going to take this all the wrong way.” 

“Contacts. Try me.” 

With a sigh, Valjean looked at the floor while he spoke. “It’s guys from the cell block I was in. I was going to meet a couple of them for a beer. Only one showed.” 

“And the fight?” 

“We didn’t start it!” 

“But you decided to participate?” 

Valjean’s face turned red with embarrassment, but he could not keep a smile from creeping onto his face. “Tony suggested it,” he replied weakly. 

Exasperated, Javert said, “Jean, we arrested four men from that fight, all of whom were carrying significant amounts of drugs. You probably have residue on your cloths from a sack of coke that broke. I know I do. If you hadn’t got out…I would have had no choice. The place was swarming with police within minutes. Any chance to toss Sammy’s…”

The smile faded from Valjean’s as Javert spoke. Closing his eyes, he looked away. 

Javert came over and perched on the arm of Valjean’s chair. He took the peas from Valjean and looked at the eye underneath, and then he gently stroked Valjean’s cheek and lifted his chin for a kiss. Valjean resisted at first but then relented and let himself be drawn in. 

Javert ask quietly, “Was this the first time you met the guys?” 

Valjean shook his head. “We’ve met maybe once a month.” 

“When I am on a second shift.” 

Valjean nodded. “I didn’t want you to be mad. We just talk, Javert. Honest. We are all staying straight.” 

“Then why are you meeting at Sammy’s? Half the drug trade for the city goes through that bar.”

It took Valjean a several seconds to answer. Finally he said, “Javert, we’re cons. Do you think we are going to meet at some uptown bar?” 

Gently, Javert ran his fingers through Valjean’s hair, stretching the soft curls until they sprung back. “Can’t you meet at Starbucks or something? Morning coffee. Somewhere where trouble is not going to find you?” 

Valjean shrugged, noncommittally. “Maybe,” he said. 

“Look, Jean, I know you and Renauld have an agreement about keeping me…safe. But you know what?”

Valjean looked up. 

“Renauld and I have an agreement about you. You need to stay out of Sammy’s. In fact, that whole block. Got it?” 

With a sigh, Valjean relented. “Okay.”

Javert looked at Valjean with a faint smile, then he stood and held out his hand. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a bit of crack, written straight through in a few hours, on my birthday night. 
> 
> I borrowed Renauld from another story I wrote called ["Café Marais"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/850962).


End file.
